


In Which Julia Isn't the Only One With Flashbacks

by TotallyARealPerson



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season 9 Episode 18: Cometh the Archers, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotallyARealPerson/pseuds/TotallyARealPerson
Summary: Aftereffects of Cometh the Archers, from William's POV.
Relationships: George Crabtree & William Murdoch, William Murdoch/Julia Ogden
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	In Which Julia Isn't the Only One With Flashbacks

Perhaps if you asked any of Detective William Murdoch’s colleagues who didn’t know him well enough to hold a long conversation full of half-hidden innuendo and inside jokes, they would say he was okay. William used the word “fine” quite a bit when he tried to reassure his loyal constables, and he was wonderful at deception when he didn’t want people to worry for him.

He saw George’s eyes follow him around the station, and how Inspector Brackenreid was worried when he didn’t even have to pay his usual ‘inventing fee’ (there had been an inside joke for a while about the Inspector setting up a budget specifically to let Murdoch invent things that had lasted for quite a while, until the solve rate for Station House 4 was skyrocketing exponentially, and then a new punchline was being told). Julia curled a bit tighter into his nightclothing now, and hardly slept. Neither did William, kept awake with memories of Eva, pain, of Horrible Hurt, horrible drowsiness, feeling invaded and violated-

He didn’t drink tea anymore. It was always milk or water, or sometimes honey milk. He liked honey and granola. Perhaps that might make a nice breakfast snack. He might tell that one to George in a while, when the younger constable wasn’t still constantly fretting for him because he’d jumped out of his socks when he heard the lyrics for ‘Henry Lee’, or nearly stopped breathing when he saw a pale, slender brunette in a light blue dress walk by pushing a pram.

He was still fine! Completely fine! It was Julia everyone should worry for. She’d almost died, and _yes_ , he admittedly still wasn’t completely over seeing her, starkly pale, bleeding out from her stomach, still listening to the gunshot ring in his ears…

He. _Was. **Fine.**_

“Sir!”

“George!” William started, and pulled the sleeve of his jacket down over his purple blotted wrist again. It had a horrid friction burn from when he’d broken free of his binds, on top of the bruising from being tied down so tightly, and burned lightly under the multiple layers of thick fabric. He might ask Julia for help with rouging if the both of them weren't morally against makeup for the lead content. “What have you?”

“A report of a body on Coles Street,” George said. “Suspicious circumstances.”

Murdoch was already on his feet, getting his hat and overcoat from their hangars. “Then let’s go.”

 _I can handle this one on my own if you’re still not ready, Sir,_ George didn’t say aloud.

 _I need to regain a sense of normalcy, George. Please stop worrying,_ Murdoch didn’t say, trying to ignore George’s attention.

And SO WHAT if he twitched at... the song that she would sing? So what if he didn’t like calling room service anymore, and made his own beverages? So what if the smell of tea made him nauseous?

He would get over it. Because he was _fine_.


End file.
